


The Coquet

by por_queeee



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, PWP, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/por_queeee/pseuds/por_queeee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes decides to fulfill one of Watson's fantasies by roleplaying a prostitute. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coquet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an old prompt on the kinkmeme: "Holmes/Watson, anything Victorian. Holmes roleplays a whore."

“Holmes, I’m not sure that I feel comfortable with this,” Watson said hesitantly, perching himself on the edge of the bed. 

Holmes raised an eyebrow in response and started to take off his coat. “Watson,” he began, draping the coat casually over a nearby chair, “I seem to remember that you were the one to propose the idea in the first place.” 

“Well, yes, but . . . I wasn’t thinking clearly. This isn’t fair to you.” Even as he said this, his eyes were drawn to the slender white fingers that danced along the buttons of Holmes’ waistcoat purposefully, the tendons fluttering beneath the pale skin with delicate rhythm. 

Holmes scoffed and tossed his waistcoat to the side, raising his hands to his cravat and disposing of it in a similar manner. He cast Watson a sideways glance, tilting his head slightly back to reveal his shapely neck as he started on his shirt. “I can assure you, doctor, that I am perfectly capable of determining what ‘is’ and ‘isn’t’ fair to my own personage.”

Watson was appreciatively silent for a moment as Holmes finished his work, his shirt falling limply to the ground as he shrugged his bony shoulders free from it. The planes of his body were unmistakably masculine, but to Watson they were also appallingly beautiful. He ran a finger over his mustache absentmindedly, carefully taking in the sharp jut of the ribs, the refined strength of the shoulders, the smoothness of the gaunt chest. They hadn’t had many chances to be together recently, not with the case, and Watson would be damned before he gave up a chance to see Sherlock Holmes naked.

“Watson,” Holmes said, amusement tingeing his voice, “what is it that has you so utterly distracted from the topic at hand?” 

“I was simply studying the subject of our topic more closely,” he returned with a smirk, eyes returning to Holmes’ face. 

Holmes undid the fly of his trousers, stepping out of them easily. “And your conclusion?”

Watson had to pause, feeling his arousal grow as Holmes proceeded by removing his drawers, followed by his stockings. He was already half-hard, and the sight of him standing there like that, so unabashed about his nudity, gave Watson a thrill of anticipation. Holmes was already playing the part, wasn’t he? A prostitute so used to his occupation that the idea of undressing in front of someone who remained completely clothed did not faze him in the least.

“Alright.” Watson said quietly, heart beating a little faster as he stood, removing only his coat. A playful smile twisted up the corner of Holmes’ thin lips. His narrow hips swayed ever so slightly as he walked towards the bed, just enough to give him an air of sensuality. This was not the walk of Sherlock Holmes; no, his was typically a confident but elegant stride. This flourish was clearly a part of his act.

Watson was uncertain how to respond at first; aware only of how tight his pants were beginning to feel. Slowly he sat back down on the bed, watching with a feeling of disbelief as Holmes climbed into his lap. The contrast between his hawk-like features and the sultriness of his expression gave Watson a shiver, and he marveled at the idea that the always cold and composed Sherlock Holmes could so effortlessly transform into a creature of passion.

Flushed, Watson grabbed at his hips and crushed their lips together. This at least came natural. But the rest of the fantasy they had previously discussed… It made him nervous to consider.

Holmes returned the kiss, inhaling sharply as Watson began to suck and bite at his neck before moving down to lick at his pronounced clavicles. He raised his hips to grind into Holmes, the friction of the fabric that separated them driving him crazy.

“What would you like?” Holmes asked, voice maddeningly deep as he peered down at Watson appraisingly, cock stiff between them.

“You know what I want,” Watson said thickly, gut twisting in guilt. Even if Holmes had agreed to this, it still seemed so degrading. But at the same time, the idea of the proud man allowing himself to be used like a common whore sent a thrill up Watson’s spine. “Suck my prick.”

Holmes smiled at the commanding note in Watson’s voice, lowering his hands to undo the fly of his trousers. Watson’s brown hair was already mussed, his lips reddened from kisses, his eyes half-lidded. He was the picture of lust, of need.

“Of course, sir.” Holmes said quietly, pulling Watson’s trousers and drawers down low enough to reveal his stiffened member. He scooted back, bending his head forward painfully slow as Watson watched, gently licking at the base of the head.

Watson restrained a hiss, eyes squeezing shut. “More.” He ordered, hand moving to bury itself in Holmes’ raven hair. 

“More, what?” Holmes asked, licking along the complete length this time.

Watson moaned lowly, head pressing backwards into the headboard. He knew what he was supposed to say, but it still felt so wrong, the idea of calling the man he most respected by that name.

“More, you slut.” He said finally, gasping as Holmes took him into his mouth.

Holmes obliged, bobbing his head up and down at a decent pace, tongue swirling around the shaft each time he neared the tip, fingers circling the base to give small strokes.

The sight of it, of a nude, subservient Holmes pleasuring him, was enough to make him buck his hips a little. He put a hand on either side of Holmes’ head, urging it to move a bit faster, to take him deeper into the delicious wet heat.

Holmes stopped moving his own head altogether, allowing Watson’s hands to control the rhythm, and Watson couldn’t help but move his hips up, thrusting into Holmes’ mouth with a small cry, impossibly turned on.

The pace increased, Watson speeding his movements until he was thrusting in and out of Holmes mouth as rapidly as he dared, trying desperately to restrain himself from shoving too deep. But Holmes simply gave a hum of encouragement, clearly struggling not to touch his own erection, one hand supporting him as he moved the other to grip Watson’s hip.

“Filthy whore,” Watson groaned with some difficulty, inhibition beginning to fall away. As wrong as this still felt in the pit of his stomach, lust was quickly overriding any semblance of restraint that he had left.

Holmes was breathing heavily but not yet gagging, and as if to reassure Watson of his well being he shoved his head forward once more, sheathing Watson’s cock almost completely. The tightness of Holmes’ throat caused Watson to let out an exclamation as he dug his teeth in to his bottom lip, something between a moan and a yelp, his body shuddering with ecstasy. 

He was thrusting harder now, just as deep as Holmes had taken him in before, hands holding Holmes’ head firmly as he moved in and out. He wasn’t thinking anymore, only moving, beads of perspiration breaking out beneath his clothing, eyes squeezed so tight that it almost hurt. “You like that, don’t you?” He grunted, burying himself in the moist tightness again and again. “You- ah- you like when I fuck your mouth.”

Holmes was shaking at the effort now, inhaling and exhaling through his nose so deeply that his chest heaved, the moan that vibrated around Watson’s member serving as an affirmative. Watson looked down to discover that Holmes had finally given in, was stroking his own erection with clumsy desperation, and he gave a heavy thrust at the sight, savoring the feel of Holmes’ throat tightening ever so slightly around him.

“Oh god” Watson moaned, fingers digging into the back of Holmes’ head. He was close, and after a few more almost violent thrusts he felt himself begin to spend. He pulled himself free from Holmes’ mouth, coming on his face with an indecipherable cry, managing to open his eyes just in time to watch Holmes hit his own release with a violent shudder. 

It took them a moment to collect themselves, but finally Holmes rose to grab a nearby rag. Sliding back onto the bed next to Watson he cleaned himself; first his face, and then his abdomen and privates. As he finished he smiled at a dazed Watson. “Well,” he said, pulling the sheet over himself, “I’d say that experiment yielded rather positive results.”

Watson turned to look at him sheepishly, feeling a bit embarrassed over where he had chosen to finish. “For gods sake, Holmes, you no longer have a gag reflex.” 

“Ah,” Holmes said with a mischievous smile, “tricks of the trade, my dear Watson.”


End file.
